In movement,
in genuflection of curved air
they remember
the bodies of children,
closed eyes lit by notes
of lost song
curved silent
reflection
curve again -
into vaulted space, shadows dance across
trappings of failed religions, question
bleached impressions of icons - remnants
of a first forgiveness,
a last confession,
the second and last coming defined in
turned tone
genuflection
turn again -
into the morning where
ash road patterns
pass windmills brooding, like vacant crosses
on the Appian Way but they dance forward
through a sea of corn, centurion stalk-spears
threatening,
questioning
where do you take
your rhythms?
which of you
is the leader?
what truths
do you hope to find?
The sun with all its power to gift life, deny days
or quicken death, blesses motion repeated
by the dancers, arouses the grain husk wind
to lift dust to
camouflage their hearts.
Keepers of movement -
be our futures,
remember us,
embrace our past of
danced rhythmic
inquisition
dance again -
at the rise of the moon to guide feet
on journeys deemed impossible in sun’s glare
where rhythm must be light for footsteps,
in darkness to outline gestures, the fusion
of phosphorous and vaulted moon.
Dancers understand steps
they choose,
know where paths will
take them,
to where journeys
demand breath, poise,
& silent space at its solemn velvet edge,
to where feet stop memories dissolving
one by one, eyes open, finding lost song,
turning our pasts, one by one
turn again
dancers
&
return to the path
for in tomorrow’s trinity,
silent reflection,
tone genuflection,
rhythmic inquisition
will return in movement
again
Jim Mackintosh